


That's My Job

by Twisted_Mind



Series: Irredeemable Filth: The Steter Collection [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostate Milking, Punishment, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Stiles’s whole body is flushed and warm. His cock is all but drilling into Peter’s thigh. A couple of tears have squeezed out from between his eyelids. Not from pain.</i>
</p><p>  <i>“Do you know why you needed to be punished, baby?”</i></p><p>  <i>He heaves in a shivery breath. “Because I disobeyed your rules.” </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	That's My Job

**Author's Note:**

> The rain of filth continues, with no end in sight. (What am I doing with my life?) 
> 
> Thanks/blame this time go to BelleAmante _and_ DenaCeleste. You both are insidious enablers and ought to come with a warning label.

 

 

Stiles hears an annoyed, “That’s it,” before his laptop is shut on his still-typing fingers. Before he can protest, he’s thrown over a broad shoulder.

“Peter”—because it’s totally Peter, Stiles would know that ass anywhere—“what are you doing? You do realize that the pack needs that research, right?”

In lieu of answering, Peter sets him on his feet in their bedroom. “Strip.”

“What?” Did he miss something?

Peter’s eyes narrow, and his voice softens dangerously. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Uh.” His brain is stuttering. Nothing makes sense.

“Boy, I told you to _strip_.”

And, oh. _Oh_.

With that one word, Stiles understands. Peter only ever calls him “boy” when he’s being punished. So while he doesn’t understand what he’s being punished for—yet—he strips quickly, folding his clothes. Once he’s finished, Peter snaps his fingers and points to the floor in front of him.

Stiles walks over quickly. Hesitating is only going to make whatever comes next worse. Stiles goes to kneel, but before he knows what’s going on, he’s draped across Peter’s knees. A hand is pinning him face-down by the back of the neck, a silent reminder to be good _or else_.

Stiles wriggles, not fighting, just trying to settle. He knows what’s coming and wants to be as comfortable as possible. Peter says nothing as he warms Stiles’s ass with a series of mild slaps. When his cheeks are an undoubtedly rosy pink, Peter lays on a few more—harder, this time. Stiles rolls his bottom lip into his mouth, worrying at it to keep quiet. He can’t stop the gaspy, hitchy way his breath scrapes in and out of his lungs, though. He’s starting to harden against Peter’s thigh.

Once Stiles’s ass is well-warmed—it stings, and Stiles swears that he can feel the heat radiating off his butt—Peter speaks. “Your behaviour lately has left much to be desired. I was quite lenient with you, tried to be understanding of the demands placed on you, but it seems to be a sad fact that if I give you an inch, you will extort several miles.”

Stiles tries to think about what he might’ve done to make Peter this upset with him, but nothing immediately springs to mind. He keeps quiet. His Daddy never punishes him without telling him why.

“Three strikes for each infraction. You may be as loud as you need, but I don’t want a word crossing your lips until I’m done. Understood?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Stiles answers, subdued.

Peter lands three blows across the meat of Stiles’s ass, the cracking sound of each strike ringing through the room. “That was for making me repeat myself.” Which, yeah, okay, Stiles saw that one coming. Deserved it, too. Another three blows land, this time on the opposite cheek. “That is for forgetting to eat lunch today.” Which. Oh shit. Had he really done that?

Anxiety bubbles up in Stiles’s gut. Whenever Peter spanks him, he lists his boy’s infractions from least to most serious. If there was more after this, then Stiles was done for. His hide was going to be thoroughly tanned.

Three more blows land, two of which catch him where he’s tender, below the curve of his ass. Stiles whimpers, because the only thing more painful than spanking that spot is when Peter clips his balls. He sincerely hopes that doesn’t come next. “That’s for neglecting your Daddy’s cock. I’d ask if you can remember the last time you had me in your mouth, but given that you forgot to eat _food_ , I’m not going to bother.” Stiles gnaws on the lip in his mouth. Peter doesn’t want apologies.

Three more blows land, spread out but with more force than the others have had thus far. Stiles whines. “ _That_ is for not sleeping. You have a bedtime for a reason.” The inside of his head is basically a never-ending chant of _fuck shit motherfucking goddamn_. Three more blows fall. “And _those_ are for screwing with your med schedule.”

Stiles’s whole body is flushed and warm. His cock is all but drilling into Peter’s thigh. A couple of tears have squeezed out from between his eyelids. Not from pain.

“Do you know why you needed to be punished, baby?”

He heaves in a shivery breath. “Because I disobeyed your rules.”

Peter hums. “Yes, but why do I have rules in the first place?” Peter strokes over the bright red skin, and although he’s gentle, Stiles mewls. It hurts.

“For—for me. To ta-take c-care of me,” Stiles chokes out.

“That’s right, baby. Because that’s my job.” Peter leans away for a moment, and when he returns, he slides two slick fingers into Stiles’s body, pushing right past the resistance. He immediately hones in on Stiles’s prostate, and starts rubbing over it relentlessly. Stiles lets out a strangled sound and tries to thrash. Peter is still holding him down, luckily, or he’d probably have flailed himself right onto the floor.

“Daddy, please,” he moans. He can’t get more than that out, but Peter understands.

“No, no, baby—this is part of your punishment. You’re going to come just like this.” Those fingers continue making firm circles inside Stiles’s body.

Stiles works his hips back, lets the heat simmering under his skin build until he’s sweating and trembling. “I can’t.”

“You can and you will,” Peter tells him calmly.

Long minutes pass, Peter holding Stiles down and ruthlessly working his prostate. Stiles feels like there’s no air in the room. He _can’t_. He can’t come like this.

But then Peter speaks. “Come on, be my good boy. Show me how you can do what I tell you, that your body’s mine to use as I see fit. To torture, to tease, to fuck and mark and spoil. Come for me.” Peter presses harder, which Stiles didn’t think was possible. “I said _come_ , boy.”

Stiles comes so hard he nearly blacks out.


End file.
